Chapter Text
The day dawned cold, even by England's standards. A low over Norway had slipped southwards, dipping its icy tendrils into the North Sea, producing an omega block- a large area of atmospheric pressure in the shape of the Greek letter 'omega' that prevents a front from moving, and leaving whatever unlucky land mass that's under it stuck to endure everything that the elements throw at it. Unfortunately, the weather that came with this particular front was a strong nor'easter with moderate to heavy snowfalls that blanketed the entire United Kingdom in a layer of white.
In the sleepy countryside of Herefordshire in the far west of England, Margaret Holmes looked out the window and tsked. Her son, Mycroft, was supposed to start his spring term at Lucton Prep School the next day, but with the current conditions, it was looking less and less like he was going to make it on time.
She sighed, absently running her hand over her growing stomach. A small smile played across her face. At seven months along, she was already starting to feel the stomach and back pain that normally came close to the end of a pregnancy. She had called the local doctor in town, but he hadn't sounded too concerned. He informed her that the baby was getting situated lower, moving towards the birth canal. It often happened weeks or even a month or more before delivery, and it was nothing to worry about- this was perfectly normal.
“Mikey, come down and eat your breakfast! It's getting cold!” Margaret called up the stairs before she went back to flipping the bacon on the stove. She purposefully wafted the enticing smelling steam up towards the stairs, just off the kitchen.
Not surprisingly, she heard the 'thump thump' of heavy steps descending the stairs less than a minute later. Mycroft trotted over to the island across from the cook top and took a seat on a stool, noisily pushing it up as close as he could get. His plump little face smiled and he licked his lips in anticipation.
“Have you packed all your things, dear?” Margaret asked while she placed the cooked bacon on a paper towel to drain. “This is your first year as a full boarder. Are you excited?”
Mycroft didn't wait for the bacon to cool- he grabbed a piece off the towel, shifting it back and forth from hand to hand, blowing on it before finally taking a bite. “Yes, mummy. I'm packed.” He didn't sound very excited, she thought to herself. It's a big deal, living away from home for months at a time. It's quite a huge step for a seven year old. But then again, he'd always been mature for his age. She was positive he was ready, even if he wasn't as sure.
“If you don't think you're ready, you don't have to board this year. You can wait a couple of years, until year four, if you'd rather...” Her words were cut off by a sharp pain in her stomach, a quick, needling twinge that radiated outwards. A spike of panic ran through her. No, not now. Please.
“Mummy, are you alright?” The bacon was forgotten as he ran to her side, then turned around and headed back towards the stovetop. He turned the heat off and moved the pan over to a cold eye so the rest of the bacon wouldn't burn. When he was sure that there was no danger of a fire, he put his hand on his mother's arm, helping her sit down on one of the kitchen counter stools.
“Mikey, dear, please call Mrs. Thompson. I think we need to go to hospital.” Margaret tried to keep her voice calm, even as her heart was pounding. She had tried to not think about the cramps she had been having earlier in the morning. Cramps and false contractions were common in the later stages of pregnancy. But they were starting to come more often and were becoming more intense, which meant that they were full fledged contractions. Dread filled her whole body. It was too soon. Too soon!
“But...it's only been thirty weeks.”
“I know that, Mikey. But I don't think this baby's going to wait any longer... “ Margaret felt another contraction coming on. Her face contorted in agony, the wave of pressure and stabbing pain flowed through her body, ebbing a few moments later. “Please, they're coming faster!”
Mycroft darted to the phone, dialing their nearest neighbor. “Mrs. Thompson.. please.. come quick. It's Mummy! She's going to have her baby!” A moment later, he was off the phone and back at his mother's side. “What can I do to help?” His eyes were huge, his breath fast and short. Margaret knew that she had to stay calm for him, even if it was only surface deep.
“Just stay with me, honey. It's not a long drive to hospital. Mrs. Thompson can stay with you in the waiting room until your father gets there. I'll have her call him when we arrive.” Mycroft nodded softly. “Help me into the living room, dear, won't you?
Margaret kept on hand on her swollen belly, the other around Mycroft's shoulders. He led her to the chair closest to the front door, helping her sit down with a little 'oof''. It was a rather ungraceful slump into the tall backed, floral chair. Mycroft paced with nervous energy, the ticking of the clock on the wall accentuated the dead silence in the rest of the house. He counted out the seconds in his head. How long was it going to take Mrs. Thompson to get here?
It felt like a lifetime before they heard the front door open. Mrs. Thompson burst in, her car still running in the roundabout driveway by the front door. “Margaret, let's get you to hospital!” She turned to Mycroft, her old, wrinkled eyes thinning as she smiled warmly. “Mycroft, you're such a wonderful little helper. I'm sure you're going to be a excellent big brother.”
Between then, they helped Margaret to the car, pausing halfway down the wide stone front steps as another contraction wracked her body. They stood to either side, helping her stay upright through the pain. When it finally ebbed, they got her as quickly as she could walk into the back seat and sped off through the pelting sleet towards the hospital.
Xxxxxx
“Father!” Scott Holmes was quite surprised when Mycroft jumped up from the hard plastic hospital waiting room chairs and ran up to him, hugging his leg tight. The older his son got, the more closed off he had become. This outburst of emotion was surprising, though it had been quite a trying day for the young boy. He reached down and gave his son a soft hug before Mycroft seemed to come back to himself and let go, walked back over to the seat, and sat down.
“Phyllis, thank you so much for bringing Margaret in, and looking after Mycroft.” He looked over to Mycroft, tilting his head. Mycroft got the wordless hint.
“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson.” Mycroft said softly.
The older woman got up and smiled at them. “You're very welcome, both of you. Any time I can help, don't hesitate to call. Give me a ring when I can come see the baby?”
“Of course.” Scott took the seat she had vacated a moment before, watching his neighbor head out the door before he turned to his son. “I'm very, very proud of you, Mycroft. Mrs. Thompson said you were really brave today, helping Mummy.”
Mycroft shrugged like it was no big deal, but there a tinge of pink to his cheeks. “Of course I want Mummy to be okay.” His voice took on a serious tone. “That baby has been causing her a lot of pain.”
“Babies do that.” his father chuckled. “You were the same way, you know. It's a little bit of pain, but the reward is quite worth it, I'd say.” A warm smile filled Scott's face.
Mycroft, however, didn't seem so convinced.